


The Sword of Shartan

by magistrainartis



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-20
Updated: 2016-01-20
Packaged: 2018-05-15 02:27:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,998
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5767789
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/magistrainartis/pseuds/magistrainartis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the Battle of Kirkwall, Fenris needs to find his own path.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Sword of Shartan

The pulsing glow woke the Mabari before it woke Hawke. The dog padded from the room and sat at the cottage door, whining as Hawke pulled on a woolen shift against the cool night. Hawke glanced through the window to see a small fire, just enough to light the makeshift training area, and a figure moving fluidly among the training posts and dummies.

Hawke pushed open the door quietly, trying to gauge the atmosphere outside. The dog had other plans. Impatient, the Mabari pushed itself through the cracked door and bounded into the training ring. The dog launched itself against the nearest wooden dummy, but came away with only the remnants of a splintered torso. The figure hadn’t stood a chance against the massive blade that had hacked at it all night: the blade held by an elf whose lyrium markings still pulsed as though keeping time with their bearer’s heartbeat.

Fenris broke his concentration as the Mabari trotted to his side, proud of his conquest and begging for attention. Fenris patted the dog’s flank and let his blade dip to the grass. “You’re not  making this easier on me, little monster.” The dog drooled happily and rolled onto his back, oblivious to the tension in Fenris’ voice.

“Looks like he was easy enough prey.” Hawke’s tone was light, but his voice sounded tired.

Fenris rose and sheathed his Sword of Mercy, his markings fading as he turned to face Hawke. “I couldn’t sleep.”

“I figured out that much.” Hawke wandered over to the fire and sat beside it. Taking the hint, Fenris set his sword against the fence ringing the training  zone and sat beside his lover. Hawke sighed. “You hate it when I ask if you’re alright."

A smile flickered across Fenris’ mouth. “Yes, I do. And yes, I am.” Hawke visibly relaxed at the reassurance.

“I’ve been working on controlling them.” Fenris held out his arms and stared at the markings curling around his limbs. “Some nights, I swear I can hear the lyrium. Like singing, far away.” He glanced at Hawke, who could no longer hide his concern.

“Lyrium sickness? You should have said. You should have told me months ago, when we knew mages who could help - when we know any mage at all who wasn’t a fugitive! Fenris, I wouldn’t know where to begin to find a healer. What do you want me to-” Fenris cut off the panicked outburst with a firm hand on Hawke’s.

“Not lyrium poisoning. Maker knows I saw enough would-be magisters shooting themselves full of lyrium to know what that kind of sickness looks like. This is...almost friendly. Like something that didn’t want this burden any more than I did.” Fenris shifted toward Hawke and stared into the dancing flames. “I’m tired of fighting my power. Tired of hating it. I’ve always fed my abilities with anger. Now that Danarius is dead and the world’s falling apart, I have to make a change. I’m exhausted, Hawke.” Hawke leaned closer to squeeze Fenris’ shoulder.

“Fenris, it’s only been a few months. No one knows we’re here. We can stay as long as we want. You can relax. You can sleep all day and all night for a week if you want to. Whoever owned this cottage is never coming back.”

Fenris nodded. “That’s exactly why I need to control the markings. That’s why I have to figure out what the lyrium voice is saying and hope it makes me stronger. Hawke, we could tell from day one that elves lived here and left in a hurry. Word of the battle spread so fast - all those mages fleeing the city. Why would guards or mages or templars spare a family of elves if they wanted shelter for the night? They ran so fast this cottage was still warm from their embers.”

Hawke nodded, “And they would have gotten far ahead of the Templars. They’re probably somewhere in Ferelden by now.”

“Or stuck halfway there. At a crossroads or a refugee camp. They’re peasants, Hawke. Do you think they’re up for weeks-long marches and watches that last half the night? One mistake is all it takes. A wrong turn on the road. A rest in an unsafe place. A moment to close their eyes instead of watching for danger.” Fenris met Hawke’s eyes. “Slavers are vultures, Hawke. They’d have smelled coin the minute they heard of the Battle of Kirkwall. They’re out there now, swooping down on any elven refugee who makes that one fatal mistake. The refugees have no one, Hawke.

“You remember what Flemeth said to me? She was right then and she’s right now. I have to act on my own. I’m free from slavery, free from Danarius-”

“Free from me?” Hawke couldn’t keep the mounting frustration from his voice.

Fenris smiled sadly, his eyes on the fire. “You make me free. I don’t want to separate. I just feel...called to this. I can’t have endured torture and enslavement for nothing. My power can help people who have nothing, no one, no power of their own.”

Hawke watched the flames dance in Fenris’ eyes. “Fenris, you can’t. They have the Chantry. The Seekers are everywhere - they’ll help where they can.”

“It won’t be enough. Hawke.” Fenris lowered his head. “You once gave me The Book of Shartan and taught me to read it. Now, for the first time, I have to do something because I know it’s my path, not because I’m forced to or because I believe in someone else’s cause.”

Hawke pressed his lips to his lover’s head and rested there before drawing away. “You followed me even knowing I would set the mages free. Let me follow you.”

Fenris shook his head violently and his eyes flashed. “Absolutely not. You think you know what I’m capable of? You have no idea what I can do to a man. Tearing out a heart is mercy compared to a small flicker into a slaver’s brain. I’ve no intention of letting anyone live, but I’ll make them beg for death if they hold back information that would help me find more captives, more slavers. I need to do this alone, Hawke….” Fenris trailed off; there was nothing more to say.

A thousand possibilities passed in the moment of silence between them. A life lived in this abandoned cottage, growing old together in obscurity. Another life battling together throughout the Free Marches, Ferelden, Tevinter, never leaving each other’s side. Yet another life in a far-off place, enjoying warm air and the last of Hawke’s fortune. Two more lives, each as terrifying as the other, where only one of them remained, clutching a letter with the news he’d long feared and couldn’t bear to be true.

“You have to go.”

Fenris turned to Hawke, wrapped his arms around him, and fiercely pressed his mouth to his lover’s. “Thank you...thank you,” Fenris panted between kisses. Hawke responded by returning the embrace with strength; he gripped the back of Fenris’ head and pulled him close, their tongues lapping at each other as desperately as their first night together. Fenris grasped Hawke’s shift and yanked it over the warrior’s head. His hands roamed over Hawke’s chest and grasped his biceps as their mouths sought one another, parted for breath, and sought each other again.

Without breaking their embrace, Hawke scooped up the elf and made his way back into the cottage. He set Fenris down at the doorstep; the two didn’t notice the tipped vase and crashing armour as they fumbled their way to the bedroom. The tick mattress was just wide enough for two to lie side-by-side, but it seemed to hold the world as Hawke pressed his lover down beneath him.

Fenris raised himself to lick and kiss Hawke’s collarbone as the larger man removed Fenris’ garments and tossed them aside. When he’d reduced Fenris to his smallclothes, Hawke surged forward to press his crotch to the elf’s. Fenris groaned and let his head fall back as Hawke’s erection rubbed his own through the thin material. There was no finesse in Hawke’s motions; he thrust and rubbed his groin madly against Fenris’ until pre-cum soaked the fabric between them.

Maddened with need, Fenris wriggled from beneath Hawke and discarded his smallclothes. He grasped the bottle of oil next to the bed, poured half the contents over Hawke’s erection,and slid his hand down its length. Hawke groaned as Fenris gripped him firmly. His foreskin slid the length of his hardness as Fenris worked his cock from base to tip, releasing his hold slightly only when brushing the sensitive head. It took only a few pumps before Hawke felt a tightening in his groin. Hawke grasped Fenris’ wrists and pinned the elf’s hands above his head. He would come within his lover’s body or not at all.

Fenris arched his back, aroused as always by Hawke’s show of strength. Hawke buried his face in the crook of Fenris’ neck and softly nipped his way to the tip of the elf’s ear. Each tiny clip of his teeth was immediately soothed with the press of Hawke’s tongue, and each time he moved up Fenris’ neck he left a tiny love mark behind.

When he felt Hawke’s tongue stroke the point of his ear, Fenris grasped the man’s face and brought Hawke’s mouth to his own. Once again, the two men grasped at each other with hands, lips, and tongue, desperate to claim the other’s body before their parting.

Fenris’ markings pulsed as his erection bobbed rigid against his thigh. Unable, unwilling, to wait, Hawke flipped Fenris onto his stomach and kissed his way down the elf’s back to the entrance Hawke wanted so badly. Even in his impatience, Hawke took a moment to deftly flick his tongue over his lover’s hole, making Fenris moan and press himself to meet Hawke’s mouth.

Unable to wait any longer, Hawke rose to cover Fenris’ body with his own. Grasping his cock with one hand and gripping Fenris’ hip with the other, Hawke guided himself into Fenris’ willing body. Fenris rocked his hips to invite Hawke’s length inside him. Hawke pumped with slow, sinuous strokes as Fenris groaned beneath him. He lowered his head to lick and suck the pulsing markings tracing the elf’s back; the sensitivity nearly drove Fenris over the edge. He raised himself onto his hands and knees, allowing Hawke to reach and stroke his aching erection. Hawke pressed his free hand into the small of Fenris’ back. Fenris responded by arching his spine; Hawke moaned as the elf’s passage adjusted as well, tightening its grip on his shaft.

Hawke’s hand increased its pace on Fenris’ cock even as Hawke ground himself into the pleasure centre deep inside Fenris’ body. With a cry and a spasm, Fenris released streams of semen into Hawke’s hand. As Fenris’ markings blazed and his cries of pleasure filled the room, Hawke rammed himself to the hilt and shot rope after rope of seed inside his lover.

***

They lay awake together all night. They spoke infrequently and to the point: did Fenris have enough supplies laid aside, how would they stay in touch if Hawke left the cottage, would Fenris please stop protesting and agree to take the dog with him.

When the sky lightened, Fenris rose from bed, washed, and strapped on the armour he hadn’t worn since they’d fled Kirkwall. Hawke watched quietly as Fenris packed his rucksack, speaking only to suggest Fenris pack the half-dozen apples that had ripened on the tree by their bedroom window.

Packed and readied, with the Mabari at his side, Fenris stood at the entryway. There were no more words to be said, so Hawke simply slipped to Fenris’ side and took him in his arms. Fenris breathed Hawke’s scent and willed himself to remember this feeling of warmth and safety. Then he moved back, wiped his eyes, and headed out the door. His path lay ahead.


End file.
